Running Battle
by Nanaki BH
Summary: Cid discovers that Vincent is missing one night. Concerned with his safety, he follows him into the night, but gets a little more than he bargained for. Mild lime, yaoi


Disclaimer: _Final Fantasy VII_ does not belong to me. It, along with all associated materials, belongs to Square and Enix. The song _Running Battle_ belongs to Kasabian.

Running Battle  
By: Nanaki BH

"Cid, you're rooming with Vincent tonight."

"Vince, eh?" Cid muttered to himself warily. It wasn't that he didn't like the blood-sucking, coffin-sleeping vampire… he just creeped him out a little. Then, to imagine sleeping in the same room as him all night… it wouldn't be a pleasant night, he was sure. There would be no point in trying to switch roommates either, he realized. Who would he _rather_ spend the night with?

They were spending the night in Icicle Inn. To Cid, the whole Northern Continent was a horrible freezing hell. "Following Sephiroth, blah, blah, blah, scorning Shinra, blah, blah, blah, have to find Sephiroth above all else…" It sounded like their journey was becoming more and more about finding Sephiroth to him. Saving the world from a crazy man was all great and good, but Cid wanted revenge. The Shinra had to pay for stealing his dream. He knew Vincent felt the same way… but he still had a deep personal connection with Sephiroth. He was sure Vincent would get what he wanted in the end either way.

Cid undoubtedly felt some kind of resentment for the unlikely band of heroes. Revenge on Shinra? As far as he could tell, they were only concerned with their own agendas. At that point, he couldn't even imagine how they'd managed to talk him into going with them. Oh yeah… Shinra. Right.

Sighing, he picked up the Trident and began his assent of the stairs. He had to admit to himself it was nice to be somewhere warm at least. His room, the farthest one down the hall, really didn't seem that bad to him either. It was one of the better inns they had been to. They even had a bar. The room itself was a little cold though, he noticed. In fact, it was really cold. He dropped his weapon on the bed and crossed the room.

It seemed that someone had left the window open… Somehow that didn't connect right in his head. The management wouldn't have even had a reason to open the window. The only other possibility was Vincent. _He even left his gun,_ he noticed; it lay abandoned on the other bed.

He leaned out the window, taking note of the neat footprints in the snow below. "How the hell did he get down there?" he wondered aloud, scratching his head. He didn't really want to go out looking for him; especially at such a late hour in a place so cold. If he left him out there somewhere though, he knew he wouldn't be able to sleep that night. If he didn't return in the morning, he would know it was his fault.

So he sat for a moment, lighting himself a cigarette, wondering what decision to make. It was damn cold outside. No man would go out there for kicks. Vincent was out there for one reason or another. He always looked so sad... _Maybe he's out there cryin' or something._ It was a serious consideration no one else would have thought of.

He took one last, long drag on his cigarette and flicked it out the window. _Then I guess he needs a shoulder._

Without a second thought he jumped out the window. He unfortunately fell face first into the snow. "Dammit," he groaned, sitting himself up. "These kids are gonna kill me one of these days." Once he got all the snow out of his ears, he started to follow the tracks. (And it was clear they were Vincent's tracks – they were his unusual triangular boot shape.) It was way too obvious. If Vincent didn't want to be found, he would have just flown straight through until no tracks could be seen from the room.

The farther Cid walked, the farther spaced the tracks became. Either Vincent enjoyed walking in long strides or he had started running. Cid stepped aside the prints and began to run along side them, trying to match their pattern. _Why was he running like this?_ The pattern was erratic and hard to follow. It was impossible that he had been chased, though the thought still scared him – Vincent was unarmed and alone.

"Vincent," he gasped, bent at the knees, "where the hell are you at?" The cold air cut into his lungs like a sharp razor. With each desperate gasp for air he took, the more his chest hurt. It was unbelievable that Vincent hadn't stopped to rest. There were certainly no signs of it, at least. He looked ahead. Tall coniferous trees were beginning to surround the area.

Cid trudged forward, taking harsh deep breaths. He looked to the sky. He could have sworn he was getting closer to the moon… Before he realized it yet, he had reached a clearing. The large trees formed an almost perfect circle to make a natural fortress around a clearing ahead. And there, in dead center, was Vincent.

"Vincent!" he shouted, desperately trying to get his attention. It was like Vincent hadn't heard him at all. His eyes were trained on the moon, his back to the pilot. Cid wasn't sure if he would be intruding on anything. He seemed pretty focused. He stood there, simply content to watch Vincent do nothing for a moment. It was nice, actually; to see someone so calm for once.

"You alright?" he asked quietly, walking forward in the deep snow to place a hand on his shoulder. He received no response. "What are you looking at?" he asked.

The gunman stood still but Cid noticed when his eyes were averted. "Just… the moon," he said simply in a small voice. "Thinking about things," he explained.

It was a vague answer for something much more important, Cid was sure. He didn't like being nosy; he wasn't that kind of person. He didn't like getting absorbed in other people's business. But should it come to concern him – that was another matter. Gently, he moved his hand to Vincent's back. "What kind of things?"

He was only trying to get Vincent back inside. "Things… about you." He was only trying to get him back inside, but it looked like Vincent wasn't willing to go back _just yet._ Above him, the moon hung in the sky behind his head like a crown of magnificent white. "I've been thinking, Cid Highwind… and you proved me right."

"I did _what?_" He asked. He tried to laugh it off casually, but he knew he was in for something of a serious conversation. Cid wasn't quite sure what Vincent meant, but there was something in his voice that gave it all away. Suddenly he felt nervous, which was odd, because a nervous Cid was hard to come by.

The moon hazed over the gunman's eyes for a brief moment, making him look somewhat dangerous. But Cid wasn't scared of him. Nervous, yes, but certainly not scared. Vincent leaned in close to him; the first time he'd had seen him really make a move. He found himself at a confusing loss for words. Never had a man been this close to him before… but it was like the winter's night air had frozen him stiff. For a reason unknown to him, he found himself unable to back away, even as Vincent's lips came to rest over his own.

"You came for me," Vincent tried to explain. His words seemed almost frantic, like he was trying to explain before Cid even had the chance to walk away. "I left the window open for you. You had the choice, you could have told someone else even – but _you_ came for me."

"I'm confused," Cid said honestly, his words forming a cloud of warm air between them. "What's the point?" he asked. "You wanted to lure me out here so you could, what, kiss me?" He put a hand gently to his chest and tried to push him back, if even just a little, but Vincent refused to budge.

Cid could see the hurt in his eyes… and it killed him. "You came for me because deep down, Cid Highwind, you care for me more than any of the others." He wouldn't hear any of it. He rationalized that Vincent must have been ill. So he turned and started walking, hoping that Vincent would follow behind him. "You came because you love me, isn't that right?"

He decided it would be best to answer for once, even if it was only to get his companion moving. If only he could find the words. But at least he could try. "It ain't wise to stay out in the cold, you know." It wasn't necessarily what he was hoping for…

A warm hand crept its way up Cid's shirt from behind, effectively startling him still. "I know," whispered warm breath against his ear. That same hand, unabashed, began working on his belt. Then, before Cid even had the chance to realize it, he was on the ground; the prey of a hungry wolf. He closed his eyes, feeling the exhaustion from his run settling in. Vincent's hot tongue trailed a wet path on his cheek. Suddenly he felt his consciousness slipping; not to mention his conscience. His fingers fumbled in Vincent's hair, trying to find a firm enough grip to pull him back. His efforts were for naught it seemed, as his companion kept on with his ministrations, seemingly encouraged.

"Vincent," he muttered hotly. The cold began to settle an almost painful chill in his bones. Vincent was so close though; so warm. Warmth became his new first priority. Somewhere, far at the back of his mind, he wondered if he should stop Vincent for real… but that was _far_ back in his mind. He heard (more than felt) his belt being undone, his pants being unzipped as well. The numbness in his limbs was unbearable but the sheer heat of Vincent's breath awoke in him a new kind of reassuring contentment.

He whispered his name to the winter night again, too tired to object any longer. A hot, wet euphoria surrounded him suddenly. Cid soon realized that it was not his lack of rational thought that made him so complacent; he simply didn't mind what Vincent was doing. It was odd to him, not new, but _odd_. He was used to this kind of treatment for sure, but the self-assured and shameless way Vincent dragged his tongue along his length felt so different than anything he'd experienced before. Occasionally he would nip and tease him, letting the cold hit his warm flesh, forcing gruff gasps from his throat. Then Cid, finally finding some kind of sense in himself, returned his hand to his partner's hair - this time, with the intent of encouraging him.

The biting temperature forgotten, Cid arched his back in the snow, gasping in pleasure. Vincent's delicate fingers, warm on his thigh, reassured him as he brought him to completion.

The world before him slowly turned dark.

It was warm, he noticed. The numbness was gone, the pain throughout his body had disappeared… the only problem was – he couldn't breathe. His nose was impossibly stuffy and there was some kind of pressure on his temples. He panicked for a moment, but then realized where he was; his hotel bed. He tried opening his eyes with some difficulty. They felt as they'd been sewn shut. The light in the room, though little, made him feel as though someone had taken a match to his eyes. As almost an instinctive reflex, he rolled over and pulled his pillow over his head.

"So you're awake?" _Somebody_ sounded irritated with him. He didn't want to hear about it. "What did you think you were doing out there?" Was it Tifa? Cid didn't want to bother uncovering his ears. She was loud as it was. "With Vincent no less, Cid; with Vincent!" Something told Cid he'd really done something this time but he couldn't seem to remember. Had he hurt Vincent? Was he okay?

_That's right,_ he thought, _I went to find him. _What happened after he jumped out of the window was all a blur, yet he somehow managed to vividly remember the brilliance of the high moon. Tifa kept on talking but Cid didn't hear her. He closed his eyes, breathing in deeply. With that breath, memories flooded to his mind like how oxygen flowed to his lungs. With that, he saw what the moon had seen.

He shot up in his bed, his head angrily reprimanding him for it. "We…!"

"Yeah," Tifa said, crossing her arms over her chest. "Vincent told me _all_ about it. Tell me;" she said, pacing in front of his hotel bed, "was it fun? You got yourself sick out there." It was hard for him to believe her. Vincent wouldn't _dare_ say something about _that_ to Tifa. The way she was staring at him told him otherwise.

"What did he tell you?" Cid asked embarrassedly, sniffling.

Tifa rolled her eyes. Though she looked angry, he knew it was supposed to be concern instead. "Cid, I know what you guys did."

"For fuck's sake!" he cried nasally. "What _we_ did? More like what _he _did!"

She left shaking her head. She had said all she needed to. Cid sat there still, staring at the open door. Thinking back on what they'd done, he couldn't blame Vincent. He was just as guilty. He didn't really like to use the word guilty for it though. It implied that they'd done something wrong. Thinking back on it, it was far from wrong. In fact, he'd never felt something so right. He'd never let himself fall into such reckless abandon before.

He heard the sound of boots on the wood floor… Vincent. He looked up at him, not even sure what kind of expression to put on. What could he say to him? _Tifa knows_, maybe. _You were pretty good…_ No. "I'm sorry for ignoring you."

He genuinely was and Vincent could see.

Vincent rushed into Cid's embrace and he didn't even have the time to see him before he was in his arms. He had the strangest feeling that he had apparated, but he didn't bother asking. That was a question for another day. All that mattered was that they worked things out. Those things seemed to be working out rather well too. Cid weakly wrapped his arms around the gunman's shoulders, resting his head against his shoulder. It was all so unreal to him, but there they were, as real as the air he breathed… rather, _tried_ to breathe. Still, as odd as it was, he couldn't help a feeling of belonging and comfort with the slight man in his arms.

"I always knew you were a good person, Cid Highwind."

"Just Cid," he said, trying to clear his throat.

Vincent was quiet for a moment, his head against Cid's chest, his fingers loosely gripping his shirt. "Right… Cid. I'm sorry for getting you sick like that."

He laughed to forgive him. "Don't worry about it. This would have happened one way or another, I'm sure." In retrospect, it was clear to him. He wasn't the kind of person to get mushy or sympathetic, but it was one of those moments that made him think, "Wow, why hadn't I seen this sooner?" And it was so surprising to him because Vincent really hadn't needed to say anything. He just felt it… and knew. At that point, it was a question of "yes" or "no" and the answer certainly wasn't "no".

He felt Vincent exhale deeply against his neck; he was tense. "What's up?" Cid asked, patting his back gently.

"You don't want a person like me." It wasn't so much a statement about Cid as it was a suggestion from Vincent. That one was easy for him to understand, surprisingly. The former Turk had some kind of inferiority complex because he could turn into a monster. It was an odd concept to grasp onto, but it was apparently possible. A human to animal transformation sounds like something that people could only dream of, but to Vincent it was a nightmare. That's how they'd found him to begin with; alone and caught up in the nightmares that tormented him endlessly.

It all seemed to have come around again. His nightmares could torment him no more than his need to feel something of love. There he was, in his arms, practically begging him for it. It would have seemed immoral to tell him "no". After all, he'd already made up his mind. "Don't tell me that," Cid said weakly, resting against the backboard.

"Why not? I'm not deserving of a person like you." It wasn't praise. What he meant was "a _normal _person like you". It was heart breaking to see Vincent so shattered in his arms. Cid hadn't even said much and there he was, getting down on himself for just so much as hitting on him. "I'm a monster, Cid," he said almost tiredly, as though it had become a polite procedure to him. "But you know that. That's why you puzzle me." He paused, hesitant in his every move. "I guess I'm sorry for assuming that you had feelings for me then." He coughed, but Cid was sure it was meant to hide a choked sob.

When he made a move to stand, Cid put an insistent hand to his back and pulled him down against him. He felt like he should say something, anything. He was careful not to say something wrong though and that was the problem. There was nothing that seemed right. Vincent looked up at him, urging him on silently. Cid sat still, he hand placed awkwardly on his back; still not so daring as to even take a breath. He swallowed hard…

And said nothing.

Nothing was all that needed to be said. Sometimes, he decided, was best to keep his damn mouth shut.

"Cid…"

"Dammit, kid." He closed his eyes, wondering what it was exactly he'd gotten himself into; but he was a man of adventure. It was a risk he was (very) willing to take. The man he held was one of seclusion though. He then realized that everything must have been ten times harder for _him_. The weary pilot looked down at him then; really looked at him. Although his heart was still beating, he knew it had been broken long ago. He wrapped his arms tightly around his shoulders. He hadn't the need to say anything else. Vincent understood.

"So what does this mean?" Vincent asked softly. Perhaps he hadn't understood… or maybe he just wanted to be reassured.

"Don't make me answer that so soon." He bit his tongue. Vincent laughed, finally catching onto Cid's inner struggle of word choice. Cid rolled over in the bed, burying his face in the pillows to hide his embarrassed blush. "You're so weird," he muttered.

Finally, with a smile of relief and contentment, Vincent laid down next to Cid, carefully wrapping his arms around his middle. Nothing else had to be said.

Author's Notes: I… finished it! Eat that, Word! Well, I hope you enjoyed that and I hope to God I didn't make it unbearably OOC. I wrote most of it before Advent Children came out and as far as I'm concerned, that movie screwed with Vincent's personality – not me. This story was based on _Banyuu Inryoku_, a doujinshi made by the Denki Brandy. I took some very small liberties with it and I think I made it into a decent story. It's way less angsty than its predecessor. Trust me on that one. I spared you some angst. So now, tell me what you think!


End file.
